“Gentlemen, I bring you good news.”

Three pairs of eyes were fixed on the tent’s threshold as Miklen made his dramatic entrance.

“Why not you bring good wine?! Better than all news!” laughed Filip.

“As if you would recognise good wine,” shook Kylren his head. “Come, Miklen. We already spread the map for you. Let us hear your good news.”

“First of all, let me introduce you, my newest Lieutenant, Evren Ayda, formerly Captain in the 17th Demiri Regiment’s sapper company.” Miklen moved aside, and let Ayda in. He was greeted by incredulous silence.

Kylren sipped from his goblet, cleared his throat, then asked carefully:

“Would this have anything to do with your order that we were not to harm Tharven soldiers burning tindersticks instead of slow match?”

“The Margrave Zinaç and I had some… correspondence,” Ayda answered in his heavily accented, but grammatically flawless Ekvinark. “Me and my men were mostly conscripted into the Demiri Corps from Selvoren and Ekvinark, and we wished to return into the service of our true country. The Margrave Zinaç was kind enough to aid our designs.”

“Cursed Labyrinth!” swore the count Vonet. “A whole company? And they all turned their coat?”

“Given our low butcher’s bill yesterday, does this mean our army actually grew after the battle?” mused Kylren.

“Splendidly done, cousin!” Filip roared. “Ayda! You drink wine with us now! All here God-fearing legetic people.” He seemed to reconsider, and gestured towards the count Vonet. “Not this scoundrel. He ascendent. But still good man. What is your name? Evren Ayda sounds not Ekvinark. You had Ekvinark child name, right?”

Evren Ayda shrugged.

“I don’t remember my original name. They beat it out of me in the demiri camps.” He took the goblet from the stunned Filip. “I will keep my current name, to remind me the road I have taken,” he added.

“Names matter little,” said Miklen with conviction. “The heart is what counts. And yours is in the right place, Lieutenant Ayda. Drink on that, gentlemen!”

They dutifully downed their drink.

“You already made inestimable services to your country,” Miklen continued, after putting down his goblet. “With the help of God we may make even more together. But let me introduce these gentlemen to you. This is the duke Esravali Kylren, Ekvinark’s most famous and most accomplished banneret.”

“The Margrave is too kind to me,” smiled Kylren apologetically. “Most of the fame is thanks to my family name, rather than my own accomplishment.”

“I fought for thirty years as a Tharven soldier, and I can say that the name Esravali puts the fear of God into Tharven hearts,” Ayda firmly shook the offered hand. “The late Vizier of Krestovik made the anniversary of the battle of Vezeken into a feast day for the garrison, because seven members of your family were slain there.”

“Oh, did he?” beamed Kylren just like he would have heard this for the first time. Miklen suspected his friend would never tire hearing of his family’s exploits. Who does, though?

“This is the count Vonet Erskar,” Miklen said aloud. “He is a master of ambushes and raids. He has more Tharven on his conscience than the rest of us combined.”

“Oh, you are no slouch regarding ambushes either, Miklen,” the count shook Ayda’s hand briefly, but kept talking to Miklen. “And I think with yesterday’s work you are almost caught up with me, even though I have been in the business for twenty years longer than you.”

“The old king put a bounty of hundred thousand maravens on your head, count,” said Ayda. “It is an honour that I can finally draw my sword on your side.”

“And last, but not least, this is my second cousin, Filip Zinaç from the far and fair land of Hemob. His Selvoren is poor, his Ekvinark is deplorable, and somehow, he is still a menace to the virtue of every high-born girl in these two kingdoms.”

“The others are martially proven heroes, and me is painted as a womanizing villain!” roared Filip. “What unjust! Not to listen to him, sapper Ayda! I am leader of my ungrateful cousin’s banderium, when he is doing Selvoren’s Margrave duties. We will be good friends. I am best with shovel, you are going to see! All sieges we dig saps of approach together, what you say? You tell me where digging, I show you how Hemob soldiers dig!”

Miklen cut into the tirade. “You will get a bigger siege than you would have thought, cousin. Gentlemen, we have irrefutable evidence that the enemy is planning a campaign against us in the summer. Their young king, Odem, has sworn an oath to conquer Ekvinark and Selvoren.”

There was a moment of silence, broken by the count Vonet.

“As we suspected. This new king wants to bring down the wrath of the whole Tharven Commonwealth on our head. So be it! I will instruct my men to start gathering reed at once. When the bridge is burnt, we can rejoin Hohenfyrn in the siege of Kitalak, as we planned.”

“We will not burn this bridge today,” said Miklen firmly.

“How so?” asked Kylren. “Why the delay? You told us at least hundred times that time was of the essence. If we start dawdling now, the campaign plan will fall apart.”

“When we planned this campaign, we hoped to delay the summer campaign of the Tharven main army by a month. It will take their main army about this long to rebuild the bridge and retake Kitalak. Thanks to God, and Lieutenant Ayda, we have a chance now to delay the campaign by another month. Tell them of your findings, Ayda!”

The erstwhile demiri officer cleared his throat, then put a leatherbound little book on the table.

“This is the diary of a demiri officer named Yendik Kumer. He was a Major in the Demiri Corps, and a confidant of the new king himself. When the old king died in the fall, his sons fought for succession. Major Kumer blew up the gunpowder factory near the capital in a daring raid. The armies of prince Odem and prince Irrek fought a short but bloody campaign after that, and Irrek lost. According to Major Kumer, it was because Irrek was out of gunpowder, while Odem could rely on the many small powder mills in the East.”

“Man exaggerates?” mused Filip. “In Yendik’s diary, Yendik is most important, right?”

“It was not an exaggeration,” answered Ayda. “The factory near the capital was the largest in the world, and alone responsible for a fourth of all the gunpowder manufactured in the Tharven Commonwealth. What is more, it was also the one that makes the finest quality powder. With the old king’s campaign last year against Ekvinark, the succession war, the supply of gunpowder is running low in the Commonwealth. This is why king Odem demoted Yendik Kumer to captain and sent him to Krestovik. But that is not all.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

He placed several white envelops on the table.

“These are letters between the king Odem and the vizier of the Krestovik province. The king ordered to stockpile gunpowder for his summer campaign, and he warned the vizier that he will have to source it locally, because the eastern and the southern provinces are embroiled in their own border clashes, and they need all the gunpowder they can make. The vizier in his answer calculates the gunpowder available in the province now and gives the amount the manufacture in Krestovik and the two smaller powder mills in the neighbouring provinces can make. He lays out a plan to enlarge the Krestovik manufacture to meet the powder-demand of the summer campaign. He also asks for funds. He gave this letter to me yesterday, to check his calculations before he sends it.”

“Correctly calculated vizier, or not?” asked Filip.

“More or less,” shrugged Ayda. “Gunpowder is a capricious material. When the air is too humid, production can shrink even to a third of the usual amount. Assuming a not too rainy spring, and that the rebuilding of the Krestovik manufacture starts today, king Odem will have the gunpowder he needs.”

“You advise to blow up the manufacture in Krestovik,” said Kylren thoughtfully. “The Tharven will have to ship most of the gunpowder they need for the summer campaign, and they will lose even more time. It will also weaken the defence of their other borders. Or so we think now. But will it work?”

“The Tharven are a resourceful people,” admitted Miklen. “It is not impossible that they will reorganize and sort out their gunpowder shortage by the summer. But time is not on their side. As Ayda said, they would have to start preparing today. As you know, I built my own powder mill a decade ago, and it was slow, meticulous work. When you are working with gunpowder, you want to be thorough about your preparations.”

“The Tharven field army arrives at Ekvinark when? Not before month Highsun,” thought Filip aloud. “They spend month to rebuild bridge at Orkon and besiege fort at Kitalak we take from them. They spend little powder, Kitalak siege is longer. They spend much powder - next siege is harder. Tharven army always goes home month Oakshade. Three months in Ekvinark. Maybe less, if luck favours us.”

“They can still make a lot of damage in three months. Last year, they took Kalondar in forty days, and that was our largest and newest fort,” warned Miklen. “We will need every advantage we can get.”

“This is all theoretical,” cut in Kylren. “I see a gigantic and veritably hideous fly in your soup, Miklen – namely, Krestovik is a large and well-defended city. We are at the culmination of our campaign. We were supposed to burn the bridge at Orkon, go back to our allies currently besieging Kitalak, and then we are to march home. Our men are tired, and we have little more supplies than what the rest of our plan requires. It is out of the question that we starve Krestovik into submission, we would starve ourselves much sooner.”

“We will capture Krestovik with a ruse. I was posted in the city for twenty-five years,” said Ayda. “The remaining garrison can’t know yet that me and my men turned against them.”

“Krestovik is very far away. About hundred and eighty miles from here on the road,” said the count Vonet observing the spread-out map. “A week’s march. Maybe more, in this weather.”

Miklen saw the confusion on Ayda’s face.

“Ekvinark miles, Lieutenant,” he said. “A little more than eight of them makes a Tharven mile.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Ayda, with the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I better get used to these short miles.”

“They don’t make the marches any shorter, mind you,” observed the count Vonet. “There are going to be fugitives ahead of us well. They could warn Krestovik.”

“The fugitives will not know either that Ayda is on our side now,” argued Miklen. “We will pretend to pursue them to make it more convincing.”

“How many soldiers do you want to take?” asked Kylren. “And how do you mean to provision them for at least two more weeks?”

“I am going to leave the margravial infantry regiment here. That is 3800 foot, and four field pieces, plenty enough to hold this bridge against any opponent. The Ekvinark banderia, the margravial cavalry and my own banderium will come with us. That is around 11 000 horse, less than 2000 foot, and my eight field pieces. As for provision – we will have to use the Tharven supply depots along the road. If the dead vizier’s account are to be believed, they are well stocked with food at least.”

“So, everyone who is here comes, but margravial infantry stays,” murmured Filip. “Dormand knows already? He disappointed sure.”

“Why not burn the bridge now?” asked Kylren. “The river Arvad and the swamps are frozen anyway, we do not need the bridge at all.”

“If we are to plunder this province, I intend to take as much gunpowder from their stores as we can carry. We can make good use of it ourselves. I will need the bridge for the wagons. If we can occupy outposts along the road, I intend to leave garrisons in them as well, so they can keep the road open for us.”

“An audacious plan, based on the writings of two dead men,” said the count Vonet dryly. “Dead men do not cast a shadow. We cannot tell if they are lying. If this Tharven gunpowder factory was blown up, and if it was so important, how comes we have not heard of it before? We fought a phenomenal campaign so far. Our goal was to burn the bridge at Orkon. We never even dreamt of ambushing and killing the province’s vizier as well. Let us count our blessings, burn the bridge, and be on our way.”

“Two dead men are not our only witnesses, count Vonet,” answered Miklen forcefully. “We have the word of an Ekvinark patriot, who has been supplying me with reliable news for quite some time. This is not the first time Lieutenant Ayda and I had a correspondence, as he put it. I assure you we can trust him.”

The vizier of Krestovik trusted the bastard and look, where that got him. He is dead, and his secrets lay bare before his enemies. Count Vonet did not say this aloud, but everyone in the tent heard the unspoken words.

I am sorry, Ayda, Miklen thought, as he looked at the man. The Lieutenant’s face was as if carved from stone, but he still appeared hurt. This was not the reception we hoped for you. It seems I will have to show my hand. He cleared his throat.

“Count Vonet. When I first spoke to Lieutenant Ayda this morning, Colonel Gal Dormand was at my side. Colonel Gal is a man whose shadow is for everyone to see. He will also guarantee that Ayda was telling the truth.”

Four pair of shocked eyes fixed on Miklen. Filip knew of Dormand, of course, and he was appalled that Miklen exposed their mutual friend so blatantly. Kylren probably suspected something before, but he could not know for sure. Ayda and Vonet had less to work with, but Miklen saw as the implication dawned on them.

“Cursed Labyrinth! A Truthsayer…” muttered Vonet.

“Is often unjustly feared and vilified. You are a man of honour and integrity, Count Vonet. You know the value of truth, and you know the value of silence. I hope you will appreciate that silence will serve our cause better in this case.”

The man’s shoulders dropped. He suddenly looked his age.

“I will follow you where you lead, Miklen.” He looked at Lieutenant Ayda. “I am sorry, if I hurt you, Lieutenant. I will not doubt your loyalty to Ekvinark again.”

Ayda nodded slowly.

“It is true, that your distrust hurt me, Lord, even if I anticipated it.” He turned to Miklen. “But your distrust hurts more, Margrave Zinaç. I supplied you with vital news for twenty years, and never once I required payment from you. Did you really need a Truthsayer to convince you about my loyalty?”

Miklen felt his own face reddening. “It was not for my own sake,” he said weakly, and saw that Ayda pierced through the lie immediately. Miklen stopped himself and sighed. “I am sorry, Lieutenant Ayda. I can only offer my apologies like the count Vonet.”

Ayda nodded, but did not speak. It was Kylren, who cut through the tension in the end.

“Loyalty, honour, integrity, you have a way with words, comrades! That sounds more like how soldiers in the opera talk, not how you lot normally swear and grumble with each other. Is that not right, Filip?”

“Hemob soldiers grumble best,” Filip agreed. “Drink for the emperor, get to business after, right, cousin? One week march in snow long time. Better start now!”

Miklen thankfully accepted the goblet offered to him. Only too late did he realize that a mischievous smile was spreading on his cousin’s lips. He cringed inwardly. Filip, you bastard, this is why I never let you give the toast!

“Long live our emperor! God stretch out his reign longer as he stretch out his neck! Bless him with gold as many as he has pimples, what I say, as the sea has ripples! Let us be brave as he showed us in battle Grubalz, where he ran away most bravest of them all!”

Miklen smirked despite himself, and he saw that the others couldn’t supress their grin either. Sooner or later, you will get us on the scaffold with these seditious utterances, he thought. But at least the tension disappeared now, and they could all concentrate on the road ahead.